


My  Medicine

by rhiannonhero



Category: Queer as Folk (US) RPS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-07
Updated: 2004-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:03:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhiannonhero/pseuds/rhiannonhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Disclaimer: </strong>All<br/>events described in this story are entirely fictitious. The author does not<br/>pretend to know the actors (or other real people) whose physical appearance<br/>and general circumstances are being exploited herein for fantasy fodder and<br/>amusement. Insult or injury is not intended. If you can not separate fantasy<br/>from reality, read no further.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My  Medicine

Gale was the one who started it, and if he tells you something different,  
he's lying.

I mean, sure, when he said he was straight, I tried not to snort and  
cough, because making any kind of disbelieving comment about an individual's  
stated sexual preference can lead to a busted lip. And, besides, I'm  
just not _that_ rude. So when Gale claimed to be straight, I  
nodded and took another sip of coffee to cover my smirk.

Straight, my ass.

The way that guy kissed? Right.

Besides, even some of the better actors on the set had a hard time  
making their same-sex kisses look realistic. I'm not disparaging the  
other actors or saying they aren't doing a great job, but as a gay  
man, I can sense any thread of discomfort running through a straight  
guy's body, even if I'm not the one doing the kissing. There's just  
something unnatural about it, something strained.

Gale doesn't have that thread. Oh, and he's not a bad actor, either.  
He's really grown a lot over the last three years. Shit, I think I'm  
digging myself in even deeper. Never mind. That's all beside the point  
anyway.

The point is, was, and always will be that Gale started it.

It began with staring. Much too long looks directed my way from across  
the room, or even from across the table. It was as though he forgot  
that I could _see_ him. He just stared at my mouth and licked  
his lips.

That's the international signal for "I want to fuck you senseless".  
Everyone knows that.

But it was like he was oblivious to it, because when he'd snap out  
of it, he was just his usual normal self.

Then it moved on to touching. I'd be standing in the corner reading  
over my script, waiting for my entrance when he'd appear at my side,  
much too close and his hand on my shoulder. If I tried to move away,  
he'd usually let me go, but sometimes, he followed me and wouldn't  
let me escape from the heat of his body against my back.

Then it shifted into fondling. I'm not sure what else you'd call it.  
He played with my hair while he talked about the cast poker game the  
night before, cupped the back of my head and used his other hand to  
brush hair from my face. He'd let his thumb trail down the side of  
my neck and dip his fingers into the collar of my shirt. He went beyond  
touching; it was, like I said, _fondling_.

I tried to play it cool because, honestly, it didn't seem like Gale  
even knew that he was doing it. It seemed as though the casual touching  
between Brian and Justin had seeped into our real lives. And, it wasn't  
as though I minded being touched and caressed by him. I was pretty  
lonely, after all, and Gale was a really great friend--who smelled  
incredible, grinned with a lopsided sweetness that made my heart jump  
a beat or two, and possessed strong fingers that knew just how to  
touch me.

So, maybe my ex hadn't been that far off the mark when he accused  
me of wanting to sleep with Gale. At the time I'd chalked it up to  
immaturity and irrational jealousy, but now, considering the way my  
body reacted to Gale's proximity and intimate contact--well, let's  
just say that I'd definitely have to eat my words if I ever saw my  
ex again.

But then Gale did something that tipped the scales. He made an overt  
pass, although a pass that would be obvious to no one but me.

See, back when we met, before we shot even the first scene, we sat  
down at a meeting to discuss the sex scenes in the Pilot. Even now  
we meet with Cowan, Lipman, the writers, and the directors every time  
we have to shoot a sex scene. We go over the choreography, the emotion  
they are trying to capture, etc. You know, just to make sure we're  
all comfortable with what we're going to be doing, and how much skin  
is going to be shown. It's all very professional, all very polite.

Well, at the very first meeting we discussed the possibility of becoming  
inadvertently, well, you know, _aroused_ during the filming of  
the scenes, and while we thought that would be unlikely, what with  
the small crowd and the camera, it still seemed like a good idea to  
discuss certain boundaries before getting down to business.

First we were encouraged to give one another specific instructions  
about any potential triggers--you know, erogenous zones that respond  
to stimulation whether we want them to or not. It was embarrassing  
since we barely knew one another, but I tried to be as honest and  
forthright as possible. I didn't want to be making out with him, get  
hard, and then have him flip out on me.

So, I pointed out that the region at the curve of my neck was extremely  
sensitive to being kissed or mouthed and that a man gripping my pelvis  
and pulling me against his leg was sure to make me hard. I indicated  
the insides of my wrist as another erogenous zone to avoid, if possible,  
and, of course, my dick, balls, ass and inner thighs.

Obviously, some scenes would require that some of these areas be touched  
or otherwise manipulated, and so long as I was aware in advance, and  
so long as Gale didn't mind me sporting wood, there really wouldn't  
be a problem.

Gale, in turn, indicated that licking behind his ears or a mouth on  
the back of his neck would possibly illicit a reaction. He seemed  
nonchalant and completely unworried about the possibility of either  
of us getting hard, so I went with the flow. No need to stress over  
something that wasn't a big deal, after all.

And it wasn't a big deal. Over the last three years we've both had  
instances of having erections during filming but we just ignored it  
and played our parts. The one time I brought it up to Gale, he said  
softly, "Well, I'm Brian and you're Justin, so obviously we'd be hard."

And, you know, _method acting_ , yadda, yadda. So I let it pass.  
No need to push it and besides I still had my right hand and a private  
trailer--as well as no desire to piss off my straight-identifying  
friend and costar.

If Gale was in denial, it was probably best for both of us, and best  
for the show, if he stayed that way. Getting involved with your costar  
is a great way to fuck up your job and your life.

But then he started it.

We were filming a scene in the loft after Justin had pissed off Brian  
and they were making out, hot and angry. Well, _we_ were making  
out hot and angry. And then I felt it--his open, wet mouth on the  
curve of my neck; he grabbed my hips and pulled me against his leg.  
I became instantly hard, and when I struggled to move out of the erotic  
embrace, he held me fast, kissing my neck, rocking against my hip--his  
own erection digging in.

Our lips met again and it was heat. Hot. Goddamn rockets.

We rocked together, sucking on one another's lips, then he lifted  
my wrist to his mouth and gently scored it with his teeth, licking  
the indentations, and repeating the action on the inside of my elbow.  
I was stunned, dazed, lost to sensation and, fuck, he smelled so good.

I barely heard them call, "Cut!"

Gale did, though, and he released me just like always, smoothing a  
hand over his hair and asking the director if that was good, or did  
we need another take?

I stared at him, licking my lips and tasting his familiar saliva,  
shaking in Justin's tennis shoes.

Apparently the director had the shots he needed because Gale's hand  
was on my shoulder, pushing me along and I could hear his voice saying  
something about hot dogs for lunch, or maybe burritos, whichever I  
preferred.

Huh?

Wait a minute.

Wait just a goddamn minute.

"Wait a minute." I turned on him, angry and still achingly hard. I  
poked my finger into his chest. "Wait just a goddamn minute."

He gazed at me, hazel eyes full of worry and concern. "What? What's  
wrong? What are you freaking out about?"

"What? _What?_ What do you mean 'what'?" I looked hastily over  
my shoulder, checking the proximity of other cast members and crew.  
"You just came on to me! You stepped over the Brian and Justin line  
into Gale and Randy territory and you know it! And now you have the  
fucking nerve to stand there and ask me what I'm freaking out about?"

Gale tilted his head and observed me calmly. "So, are you interested  
in the Gale and Randy territory?"

"No." I shook my head adamantly. "Absolutely not."

Gale nodded and shrugged. "Okay, then. So--burritos or hot dogs?"

I stared.

"Or maybe you have other plans?"

I closed my mouth which had been hanging open for way too long.

He stepped around me, saying, "Fine. I'll eat alone. No big deal."

I stood frozen. I stared after him. I was still fucking hard.

  


  


I avoided him for the next several days. We had no  
scenes together and I stayed in my trailer most of the time playing  
my guitar, (I'd decided to teach myself), or reading over potential  
scripts for hiatus.

It felt weird, though, not seeing him. Not having lunch with him  
and not talking about the latest Radiohead CD. Hal and Thea were  
no fun when it came to talking about music. Hal always ended up  
doing impressions of the lead singer or something equally horrible.  
I still wanted to punch him for his bastardized rendition of "Fake  
Plastic Trees"--I believe it was "Fake Plastic Cheese".

Gale, though, he'd nod and suggest that we hit the used CD stores  
and look for some good jazz or early goth on vinyl.

It was on the fourth day that he showed up at my trailer door with  
a bag in one hand and a pint of vanilla ice cream in the other.

"Hey."

I shrugged. "I'm still pissed at you."

"I know. Want some brownies and ice cream?"

"No."

"Hmm." Gale cast his eyes down, and my heart tugged. He looked defeated.  
"Okay, well, I'm fresh out of plans to get you to talk to me then."

I leaned against the door jamb.

"Listen, Randy--" He broke off and started over using the nickname  
he typically only called me when he'd been drinking. "Listen, Rands,  
I don't know what to say. I just--" He stopped and shrugged again.  
"Hell, you can't blame a guy for trying, right?"

I groaned and let my head fall back. I knew there was no way out  
of this. We'd have to talk.

I stepped back into the trailer, motioning for him to follow. I  
started to sit down on the couch, but decided that might look like  
an invitation, so I sat down at the small table where we usually  
shared lunch if we weren't eating out somewhere. Gale always said  
that my trailer was cleaner, but his was always spotless. I don't  
know why he preferred to eat in my trailer; maybe it was to avoid  
the clean-up.

Gale dropped down across from me and deposited the bag of what I  
presumed were the aforementioned brownies and the now-leaking pint  
on the table. He sat hunched over and frowning, a brooding Brian  
look that made me smirk.

I cleared my throat. "Look, I don't appreciate having my feelings,  
sexual or otherwise, toyed with for kicks, okay?"

Gale looked up, eyes wide and horrified. "That's what you thought?  
That I was toying with you?"

I sat in silence. What else could it have been? He'd identified  
as straight. We were coworkers. He'd perpetrated his crime in front  
of a tiny army of worker bees and on film, for Christ's sake. Then  
he'd walked away asking about burritos and hot dogs like it was  
the most normal follow up to violating my personal boundaries and  
the agreement that had been in place since day one. Was I supposed  
to believe that he had been intending anything other than a prank?

"Jesus, Rands, in case you haven't noticed, you make me hot."

"I make you hot." I repeated it as a statement, but it was disbelief.

"Don't tell me you didn't know. I've been coming on to you for months."

Like a flash, like the super-zoom flash of a Queer As Folk episode,  
a rush of memories assaulted me. Gale's hands on my back, in my  
hair, his face just inches from mine, licking his lips, staring  
from across the room.

He'd been coming on to me for months.

So there it was. He'd started it and I'd been oblivious until he  
went too far. And now here I was trying to make out some sort of  
reaction, some sort of feeling beyond shock. How was I supposed  
to respond to this? Did he want me to drop to my knees and blow  
him? Did he want me to bend him over the couch and fuck him until  
he came all over the upholstery? What, exactly, was he expecting  
from me?

"You've been coming on to me for months." Again, statement underlined  
with disbelief.

"I don't know how I could have been clearer without just saying  
the words and I was really trying to avoid that."

"Are we on Candid Camera?"

Gale laughed and opened the bag of brownies, pulling out a gooey,  
chocolate confection. It looked good. "No. Should I be offended  
that you have so little faith in me? I can't believe you'd expect  
me to be so cruel. I'm not really Brian Kinney, you know"

So--

He wanted me.

What the hell did that mean exactly?

"What are you asking of me, Gale?" May as well get it all out in  
the open now and deal with whatever it was all at once. "I mean,  
is this some sort of homosexual experimentation for you?"

Gale shook his head, shoving a chunk of brownie into his mouth.  
"Nope."

Nope. So eloquent. So enlightening.

"Are you asking me to go steady? Where's my corsage? Where's my  
invitation to the homecoming dance?"

Gale chuckled and swallowed. "I was thinking that we could just  
do what we normally do--only with sex."

I blinked.

Sex.

With Gale.

The thought hit me like a two-by-four to the head. My cock was certainly  
interested and my nipples and every inch of my body.

"What about the fact you're, oh, I don't know-- _straight_?"

Again he shrugged. "Well, really, Randy, what guy could make out  
with you for three years and stay straight?"

I was pretty sure that was a compliment wrapped up in a really cheesy  
line. Still--it was nice. "Right. Randy Harrison, sex god extraordinaire!  
Can convert straight men with a single kiss! Bend them to his will  
with a swivel of his hips! And, oddly enough, repel gay men at every  
turn!"

Gale laughed, not in the least perturbed by my befuddlement. "You  
don't repel gay men."

"Then, why, pray tell, has every guy I've gone out with in the last  
year not returned for a second date?"

Gale frowned and looked at his hands. "Um, because I told them that  
you and I were lovers?"

"What?" I slapped my hand on the table. He'd _what_? "You _what_?"

"Well, where do you think all those rumors about us came from?"

"Oh. My. God."

Gale put on the puppy dog pout. I held my breath. I would not cave.

"Rands, come on. Can't you even imagine us together? I thought you--"  
He looked embarrassed suddenly. "I mean, I felt--and I thought--"

I stood up and ran my hands through my hair. "Look. This is--wow.  
A lot of information to process, okay?"

"Yeah."

"So, really, can you just--go?"

Gale nodded, stood up, and left without another word, leaving the  
brownies and the ice cream behind.

I was glad. I needed them.

  


  
The next time I saw him, I was Justin and he was Brian, and then  
I left the set. There was none of the usual clowning or joking while  
filming. I'm certain that the other cast members, and especially  
the crew, knew that Gale and I'd had a falling out.

Or a coming out. Or something.

I had said that I needed to process, but what I really did was spend  
as much time as possible _not_ processing, not thinking about  
it and just avoiding anything and everything that reminded me of  
Gale. After three years as close friends and confidantes, that was  
nearly everywhere in Toronto.

The one place I could definitively say had no memories of Gale attached  
to it was my bathtub. So, I spent a lot of time there. Considering  
how fucking cold Toronto can be, soaking in a nice warm bath wasn't  
a hardship.

On this particular Saturday morning, I brought a stack of books  
that I wanted to peruse, set them up on the closed toilet seat,  
determined to read the day away. When the water got cold, I let  
it out and poured a fresh tub of hot. No thoughts of sexy co-stars  
with mussed hair grinning at me over the top of a coffee mug. No  
memories of warm, wet lips sliding down my throat. No fantasies  
about stripping Gale's clothes off, bending him over my kitchen  
table, careful to keep his hard cock from being trapped uncomfortably  
against the edge, and opening his tight ass with a nine inch dildo,  
before fucking him so hard that his voice was hoarse for a week  
from screaming.

Nope. None of that.

Just me and my books--and a gigantic, ruthless, aching hard-on that  
demanded my attention every once in awhile.

I could hear the phone ringing, but I'd forgotten to bring it into  
the bathroom and damn if I was getting out of my nice warm tub just  
to hang up on a solicitor. I guess I should have noticed that the  
phone rang on a pretty regular interval, but I was busy traveling  
through the wardrobe with C.S. Lewis. It was amazing the number  
of sexual fantasies one can cook up from that book, especially once  
I started thinking that maybe the protagonist looked like a young  
version of Gale. Dark with large pouty lips and wide eyes--

Shit.

None of that.

I cleared my head and tried to concentrate on the book. Two more  
pages slid beneath my eyes, but the words didn't gel. I was far  
away in some fantasy world where Gale had moved in to my apartment  
and we cooked dinner together, laughing at Hal's antics on the set  
that day, arguing over the remote control. Settled the argument  
by rock/paper/scissors; loser got a blowjob to lessen the sting  
of the loss. Communal showers. Arguments over groceries. And, one  
night, over an amazing pasta dinner, prepared especially to celebrate  
the anniversary of our first fuck, Gale would finally tell me the  
story of that _resist_ tattoo on his finger.

How very _Gay As Blazes_ of me.

Shit.

Someone was banging on the door to my apartment. Hard.

I groaned and reached for the towel, pulling myself up and out of  
the tub, tucking the egyptian cotton around my hips. My irritation  
spiked as the hammering on my door continued unabated and I yelled,  
"Shut the fuck up! I'm coming!"

That stupid fucking Super--I'd told him last week that if he needed  
to get to the pipes in my apartment to do it when I wasn't home.  
I stomped across the living room, water dripping all over the hardwood  
floors. Hell, I spent forty to sixty hours a week on the set and  
you'd think that in my downtime I could be afforded a little peace  
and qui--

et.

Gale.

Shit. I should have known--or at least guessed. I clung to the half  
open door, shuddering as the chill from the unheated corridor poured  
into the room. Gale looked frantic, his hair a mess, his eyes wide  
and panicked.

"Hey," I said casually.

"Why the fuck haven't you been answering the phone?" Gale demanded,  
no preamble, just worry-sparked anger.

"Um, because I was in the bathub? And I didn't want to get out?  
And it's my goddamn phone and I don't have to answer it if I don't  
want to?" I knew I was princessing out a little, but, really, who  
the fuck did he think he was showing up at my apartment on a Saturday,  
interrupting my entirely Gale-free bath with an interrogation about  
my phone habits?

"I've been calling for hours."

My mind flipped through the hazy memories of the last few hours.  
Joyce, Yeats, phone ringing, masturbation, Kavalier and Clay, phone  
ringing, Joyce again, masturbation, phone ringing--and so on. Yes,  
I suppose he had been calling for hours.

"So?" I asked.

"So? So why the fuck didn't you answer the phone?"

"I told you, I was in the goddamn bath!" I nearly shouted and had  
to rein in my voice to keep from alerting the neighbors to that  
rather unimportant information.

Gale ran a hand through his hair. "I thought maybe you were sick,  
or hurt, or dead."

I stared at him, finally saying, "Morbid little fucker."

He shrugged and put a hand on the door to press his way into the  
apartment. When I didn't give way, his hands ended up on my chest,  
skimming down to my hips and he bodily moved me out of the way before  
he closed the door behind us. "You've been avoiding me."

Now it was my turn to shrug. "And?"

Maturity in these situations was never my strong point.

When I broke up with my last boyfriend, things got quite ugly and  
I'd been horrified to realize later that we'd both turned into fifth  
graders in the midst of that last fight. I think he even stooped  
to insulting my mother.

Gale's hands were still on my pelvis, holding me in place like he  
thought I might flee or vanish. He bowed his head, bit his lip and  
closed his eyes, rubbing his thumbs in the hollows of my hips. I  
could have pulled away and part of me was yelling, "Run, run, run!"  
But the rest of me was screaming, "Get closer, you fucking idiot!"  
Caught between my inner imperitives, I stayed still and let him  
fondle me.

It wasn't long before his hands moved to the folded edge of the  
towel, freeing it. It droppped to the floor and I stood still for  
his inspection. He'd seen it all before. It shouldn't have been  
anything new, but his eyes were heavy with lust and so hot that  
I felt them moving on my skin.

I can't account for what happened next. There is a skip in my memory.  
Because all of a sudden--

I was sitting on the bed, panting heavily, beard burn stinging on  
my chin and throat, watching as Gale struggled out of his jeans,  
one thought circling in my mind, "Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, fuck yeah--"  
I think I may have been saying it out loud.

I'd tasted his skin, his saliva, but never his cock and I sucked  
it in with my eyes open, staring up at his face, gentle ecstasy  
painting his features. He gripped my hair and I took him deep, pleased  
with his grunt of shock. I was good at it. I'd had a lot of practice.

I sucked him until I felt the swell of his orgasm against my tongue  
and I pulled off, tightening my fingers around the base, postponing  
his climax. He groaned and shook his head in denial, but I wasn't  
going to let him come like this. He was going to come with my cock  
in his ass or he wasn't going to come at all.

"Randy, Randy, Randy--" He chanted my name like he couldn't remember  
any other word, not even yes.

I pulled him down to the bed and he took me into his arms, rubbing  
against me, smelling my hair, murmuring odd things against my neck.

"I'm going to fuck you now." I said it softly, it was sweeter sounding  
that perhaps it might look from the outside.

Gale stiffened and then nodded slowly, rolling onto his stomach  
and burying his face in a pillow. I wanted to see his face when  
I entered him, but I didn't ask him to turn over. Penetration for  
the first time is a big deal and it can be a very private, intimate  
moment--if Gale needed his privacy, then I wanted to give it to  
him.

I stretched out against the line of his body, whispering in his  
ear, "You know what I'm going to do? Do I need to tell you?"

He nodded and then shook his head. He knew. He didn't need my instruction.  
I tucked a pillow under his hips and he instinctually thrust his  
swollen cock against it, seeking friction. I sought out the lube  
in my nightstand and returned to his side with gentle, calming strokes  
down his back.

I'd done this kind of thing before, but not with someone Gale's  
age, most of the virgins I'd taken had been in their early twenties.  
I knew if I had to be careful with them, then I needed to be vigilant  
in the extreme with Gale.

Penetration would be a make it or break it moment and I was probably  
as terrified as he was when I trailed my index finger between his  
ass cheeks, passing over his hole and then returning to make gentle  
sweeps around the pucker. His back muscles leapt nervously under  
my steadying hand as I pressed my finger into him. I whispered mindless  
encouragement as I sank in to the second knuckle, and his ass was  
so tight that the thought of my cock working into it made me squirt  
pre-come, my cock jerking with demands.

"Gale?"

His breathing was stuttered and I worried that he would back out.  
My cock was so hard that it made it hard for me to swallow, made  
it hard for me to breathe; I didn't think I could handle him backing  
out now.

"Yeah?" His voice gravelly, breathless.

"Okay?"

He nodded and shifted back against my fingers, wordlessly asking  
for more, until I worked a second finger in alongside the first,  
then he gasped and took a shuddery breath.

I pulled both fingers free, adding a little more lube, when he twisted  
and grabbed my wrist. My heart thudded in my cock and I took a long,  
deep breath to prevent myself from crying out in frustration. He  
was going to put a stop to it. I just knew it.

"Rands?"

"Yeah?" I shifted so that I could better see his eyes. He'd turned  
from the safety of the pillow, searching out my face.

"C'mere?"

I scooted up, ready to offer whatever comfort I could and resigning  
myself to a hand job at best. I told myself, "See? This is what  
you get for falling for a straight guy. Fucking moron!"

Settling down beside him, I held his gaze and whispered, "You okay?"

"Yeah. I just--" He looked away and dropped his head back to the  
pillow, hiding his face.

I rolled up onto my elbow and ran my hand down his back, the lube  
leaving a wet trail over his long, cut muscles. So fucking gorgeous.  
I took a deep breath and concentrated on the task at hand. Gale  
was freaking out, I had to talk him down from the ledge before this  
all went to shit.

"Hey, Gale--" He buried his face deeper into the pillow. "It's okay.  
Hey, we can stop, slow down--whatever you need. Really, it's okay."

A muffled groan was the only response. I closed my eyes and pinched  
the bridge of my nose.

"I know that it can be overwhelming and maybe I pushed too fast.  
I should have let you come with the--"

"Rands, shut up." He was staring at me with soft, deep eyes, a small  
smile on his lips. "I just need to know--" He trailed off.

I heard the meaning behind the words. I swallowed, turning my head  
away a little, before meeting his eyes. "Yes. Yeah. Okay?"

"Okay." Gale turned his face back into the pillow, muffling the  
words, "I'm ready."

I took my time preparing him and I can't tell you how often I nearly  
stopped. He was like a skittish colt, one moment moving back against  
my fingers and the next pulling away, clawing at the sheets. I soothed  
him with my voice and my hands, and he never said stop or no, just  
yes and more, but it was hard for me to see the conflict played  
out his body.

When it was time, I slid on a condom and coated it with lube. He  
bent his knees up, lifting and exposing his ass--so hot it took  
my breath away. I ran my hands over his thighs soothingly, then  
crawled onto my knees and slid my cock into the nest of his ass  
cheeks. I curled over his back, kissing his shoulder blades and  
asked, "Ready?"

Gale's answer was to spread his legs further, offering himself to  
me. I took my cock in one fist and brushed the head across his hole.  
His breath hitched and I said, "Breathe now."

And on his broken exhale I sank into him. I shuddered at the tight  
clamp of his ass spasming around me, his body shocked at the intrusion.

Gale's surprised exhalation caught my attention and I bent down  
to press kisses to his back. "Okay?"

He remained silent, his breaths hitching and I couldn't stop nature,  
my hips moving of their own accord, rolling thrusts that took me  
deeper, deeper and deeper, until I was snug against him. I struggled  
to catch my breath, my cock jerking in his tight, hot ass.

"Gale?" I asked urgently. I didn't know how long I could hold myself.

"Do it." He sounded distant and I ran my hand down his back, caressing  
him gently, before slowly pulling back and pressing in. Gale jerked  
under me and I grabbed his hips to steady myself, thrusting in and  
out a little faster, a little harder. I closed my eyes as the push-pull  
began again, Gale alternately pressing back for more and scrambling  
against the bed as though trying to escape.

His breath continued to hitch and when I checked again, his face  
was buried deep in the pillows. I let go of myself and let my head  
drop to his back as my hips snapped. I changed angles and Gale leapt  
beneath me, a shocked sound in his throat; I held on to his hips  
and stroked again, hard, fast, deep.

Gale's breathing changed to a low keening peppered with my name  
and curses. Suddenly he stilled and a startled cry jerked me upright.  
I thrust again just as he came and his ass clutched my cock. I licked  
my lips, fucking him harder than I probably should have, but he  
was moaning and it sounded like pleasure, so I continued to ride  
him, angling for his prostate and his cock spurted with aftershocks  
again and again.

"Randy, oh fuck!"

I closed my eyes and grabbed his hips to hold him steady as he shook  
through what appeared to be another orgasm, or perhaps just an especially  
intense aftershock. The build of my own orgasm was close to the  
surface and I gave in to it as I bent to lick his back, sucking  
his sweet skin, tasting the salt of his sweat. I reached around  
and grabbed his cock, sliding my hand over the come-wet shaft before  
bringing my fingers to my lips and tasting him.

Good God.

I think I screamed.

It continued a long time.

Orgasm filled me like the tide and left me empty, exhausted, hunched  
over Gale's back and gasping sweat-salty air.

  


Gale was like a giant, goofy teddy bear. He wouldn't  
stop touching me, running his hands over my body, and when I fell  
asleep, he dragged me into his arms and I woke up with his face  
buried against my neck, drooling onto the curve of my throat.

I never knew that drooling was sexy. But apparently it causes rampant,  
eager, desperate hard-ons.

So I woke him up and, with a little help from his hand, took care  
of that problem.

Later, I lay in his arms and tried to decide how to punish him for  
ruining my sex life for the prior year. Pfft. Telling my dates that  
we were lovers just to run the guys off.

Kinda sweet actually.

I chuckled. Yeah, where had I heard that before?  


I think I became addicted to Gale that day and I've  
needed my fix ever since. Even when things went south for awhile  
during Year Two, we were unable to go a week without fucking--despite  
separate residences and screaming fights. Maybe because of the screaming  
fights.

But that's in the past now, too.

In fact, I heard Gale telling my mother the other day that "this  
whole thing", gesturing around the house, indicating our lives together,  
was "all his fault", meaning me. He claimed that I'd started it  
and, as far as Gale was concerned, I was going to have to be the  
one to finish it. It only seemed fair.

Funny, because the way I remember it, Gale started the whole thing.  
And, I've got to say, based on the evidence of the last several  
years--

I don't think he'll ever finish it.

I'm okay with that.  


THE END

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for the odd formatting. The import came in this way due to the site I have it archived at, and I would have had to delete the return at the end of every sentence to make it format the way I would have preferred. Laziness won out.


End file.
